


Fern

by darylfiend



Series: Flora [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Awkward Tension, Ficlet, First Kiss, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:17:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darylfiend/pseuds/darylfiend
Summary: 3/3





	Fern

“Daryl, stop.”

Tethered by the gloved hand that snagged his wrist, Daryl paused, hovering off-balance before giving in to the request. It wasn’t his place to storm out after what had happened, but the hot shame flooding his face kept him from looking to the scout, heating further at the mental image of himself, hunched and looming in the small room’s doorway, red-faced and still reeking of last night’s whiskey. He needed a shower, he needed some air. He still held a fern frond that he didn’t feel mean enough to simply drop to the floor. 

It was still tightly-curled, a springtime token of hope, after a strained, hungry, laborious winter under the sanctuary’s roof. His presence hinged on Maggie’s, refusing to leave her side once they were reunited. It hadn’t been easy, Paul was sick for a long time, on top of the losses they’d suffered. The ambient sounds and smells of the place crept into his subconscious every night. Even though the threat was gone, the nightmares were persistent, humiliating and exhausting. 

They were innocently sharing a bed, after their first week packed into a single room, sleeping in blanket piles on the floor, if only for the security of each other’s presence. Eventually more living space was refurbished from empty storage closets and offices, enough to provide the mother and baby with a little more privacy. Paul had said it was weird of him to sleep on the floor while Paul had a whole queen mattress to himself, and he didn’t argue. Paul was one of the only real saviours in their damned world, and he felt safe with him.

Paul had been scouting again that morning, had decided he’d found him a better place, a cabin; not too close, not too far, not completely falling apart. Found _them_ a place; he’d used that word, “us,” as in the two of them, together, and seemed so damned proud of it, too, certain the roof could be fixed, with space for a workshop. Daryl could hunt, and they could make it easily to the Hilltop to help with the rebuilding and planting, to scavenge and gather, and though he didn’t mention it, to give Daryl the space and quiet he needed to heal. All of that enthusiasm had vanished the moment Daryl pressed his lips to Paul’s, replaced by stunned silence. 

“Look, I didn’t mean, I just—can we talk? Just a little?”

The hunter’s head dropped in a noncommittal nod, shrugging his hand loose and then wishing he hadn’t, because now he wasn’t sure what to do with his arms, and began picking the plant apart, tiny green leaves falling to the concrete floor. His whole frame was twitchy and hot and loose with a weird and shameful feeling, and he had to force himself to breathe evenly. 

Paul sighed, one hand kneading the other. If he had to say his piece to the back of Daryl’s head, so be it. 

“I like you, a lot, that much is obvious. You’ve just been through so much lately, it’s—I need to know, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t even know how to ask. But if I’m just a distraction to you, or if you think you have to, if you think I won’t still, you know, _like_ you, if you don’t, then I don’t…” 

His voice wavered, and he sighed, uncertain and shaken, when Daryl chanced a look at him through tousled strands of hair that failed to hide the redness of his face. This time Paul ducked away from the look, already feeling the shame closing in on him, for saying too much, for being clingy, ugly, for dropping the act, for spoiling the moment. 

“I hardly know you,” he stated quietly, scratching his ear, “even after all this time. But I like you, and that scares me, because I don’t even know how to trust that, not when I don’t even know what you want from me.” 

He looked miserable, closed-up, pale, and Daryl already hated what he’d gone and done. He stepped back minutely, fidgeting and swallowing, not sure of how to apologize, but knowing that it typically started with an apology. 

“‘M sorry. Never done that before, I should’n’t have, never done nothin’ right,” he shrugged, already hated how this was turning out. He felt like a pitiful asshole now, knowing that being clueless and awkward was no excuse. Paul didn’t look like he thought so, though, with those damned hopeful eyes and his stupid gentle beautiful face. He huffed, forcing a little more out.

“You’re the last person I want to hurt. Was just a kiss. Don’t got to mean nothin’. Just don’t know how else to say it.”

“It wasn’t just a kiss, Daryl, friends don’t just…” He sighed, shaking his head, smoothing his gloved hand over his mouth and beard, the faint smile lines around his eyes briefly reappearing. Daryl silently damned him for the way those fond eyes yanked at his heart like a dog on a lead, for the gentle lilt in his voice as he stepped closer, “it was really nice, just surprising. I really didn’t think you felt the same way. Trust me, if you tried anything I didn’t want, I’d tell you.” 

He took the mangled frond from Daryl’s hand and tossed it onto a shelf, then cupped his face so Daryl would look at him. “But if it does mean something, if you really do want to _try_ , I need you to tell me. If we’re starting this, I really don’t want to mess it up.” 

As quickly as the storm had come roaring between them, Daryl felt almost numbed with relief, because he already knew the answer to that one. He sniffed once and nodded, straightening his stance and flicking the hair from his eyes with a shake of his head. He met Paul’s stare with hopeful appraise, looking sad and soft and fond all at once. He took in a few short breaths, false starts as he fumbled with the pile of questions between them, before Paul’s hand took his, and gently stroked his knuckles with the pad of a thumb, helping him to choke out the words. 

“It does,” because he did mean something by it, “and I do,” because he did want to try, and he barely had to open his arms for Paul to embrace him.

“Thank you,” Paul whispered, because that was all he needed to hear before he returned the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for sharing i'm daydreaming out loud and pretty much done with this.


End file.
